A Peacekeepers Nightmare
by T.j.98
Summary: Everybody has a story to tell, but not everyone gets to tell their story. Lysander Hardley is a peacekeeper fighting against the second uprising. Now war has come to District 2, and all peacekeepers will be forced fight as their homeland becomes the deciding battlefield of the war. Can he protect his home and family from the war? This story is the sequel to A Peacekeepers Duty.
1. Chapter 1:First night home

I am lying in my bed, in the bottom bunk, staring at the wooden boards that hold up the top bunk. I do not move, I do not even close my eyes; I simply listen to the breathing of various people in the temporary field barracks. The tent is strong enough to keep the wind out, and it is insulated that I am not cold, yet I was so exhausted from the train ride I did climbed onto the bed without undressing or even taking off my weapons.

The personal chests were loaded onto one of the trains, so I have no where to place my sword. I kept it on when I climbed into the bed, and now I just lie here like the others and try to get over the bad news that greeted us here. A rebel army from District 13 took District 1, most of Panem has fallen, rebel atrocities are rampant, there is fighting along the District 2 border, and Marcus was among those who did not catch the train.

I am saddened by the last part, because I know I will never see him again. Those barbaric traitors do not give fair play, and they will surly slaughter every non-rebel to a man. Still, I do not cry. I guess I have no tears left in me.

We are currently encamped in a District 2 village near our district border, we are here because this is one of the villages the train stopped at. Some of the loyal soldiers got out, some more will get out at other villages along the railroad leading to the districts central city. There are no civilians in this village as they were evacuated deeper into the district long ago. They will be safe from the rebel menace there, they will be safe from the war.

I do not want to fall asleep, not because I will have to wake up in five hours. I do not want to face the battles of my dreams just yet. I know I will, sooner or later, have to face one of the personal torture chambers my mind decides to place me in on random nights. I do not want to face those just yet, so I lie awake and listen to the various sounds of the day. Whether it is Crispin snoring lightly in the bunk above me, Montgomery trying not to move his bandage wrapped leg, Harod mumbling something in his sleep, or Aric playing a card game with Jacobine, I listen to these noises as a distraction to keep myself from falling victim to bad dreams.

I try to think of comforting thoughts, anything to keep me calm. I think of my mother and Annona back home, probably relieved when they got the letter in the mail telling them I successfully escaped District 4. I think of my grandfather, not on his deathbed but when he was alive; his stories of bravery and valor are stories I understand a little better after living through something similar. I get comfort knowing I am following his footsteps, treading the path he tread long ago. I just hope I will live to see the end of this cruel war.

Slowly, quietly, I allow myself to drift off to sleep. I have no dreams, neither good nor bad ones fill my head. It is just peace, and probably the only peace left to find.


	2. Chapter 2:Of blood and battle

We stand at attention, waiting for our orders. Commander Barca gives them to us, and by the look of him I can tell he got just as little sleep as his soldiers. His speech, like his personality, is to the point and avoids unneeded pomp.

"Loyal soldiers, it is unfair to ask you to go back into the fight so soon; if there was any other way or if the the situation were not so dire I wouldn't dare. But the situation is dire, and we will have a lot of fighting before us if our banner is to be victorious. I can promise this, I will continue to lead anyone willing to follow me until the breath is gone from my body. Are you with me?"

We all bellowed our response, "TO TRAITORS NEVER YIELD! TO TRAITORS NEVER YIELD!"

Commander Barca simply says, "Then the sword is drawn."

The marching was only metaphorical, as we got into transport trucks which drove us to the battlefield for deployment. The smell of the air, of the trees, the seasons, of district 2; these smells provide no comfort because they remind me only of all that was lost by the fires of rebellion.

We ride the trucks until we reach the battlefield; a small border hamlet being assaulted by ornery rebels. It does not take long to for Commander Barca to give his soldiers the orders: kill. With fully loaded automatic machine guns, fixed with bayonets at the top, we move quickly to flank the rebels from the left. I, like the others, advance in a running pace. I see three rebel soldiers running down a dirt pathway but I do not open fire.

I am so close and surprise them so well that I am able to slide the bayonet into the chest of the first rebel and in a fluid motion swing the butt of my gun sideways into the head of the second rebel, using the sideways swing to pull the bayonet out of the bloody chest. The third rebel, probably a raw recruit, foolishly decides to male a run for it instead of fighting or surrendering. All I have to do is open fire on the poor bastard. The blood fluids gush out of his chest on the opposite side of the impact point, painting his grey uniform red. I almost do not notice the rebel about to smash my brains in with a hammer.

When I do notice, I hear a rebel skull pop and feel the brains land on my shoulder. I turn around and see a Peacekeeper holding his pistol out from his arm. His voice reveals him to be Montgomery.

"Your welcome."

Together Montgomery and I cut down the side path and join the others at the hamlet crossroads where the rebels have tried to dig in. Down the main road, probably transported in armored trucks, come several german shepherds bound towards the enemy. The dogs are faster than the rebel reaction time, vicious enough to charge head on, and their size ensures the rebels will have to adjust their gunfire to get them.

In the confusion of the rebels, we all charge forward. We chant our battle cry as we advance from three sides. Some of the twenty or so rebels still alive outright start fleeing, but it is not a full route yet.

"TO TRAITORS NEVER YIELD! TO TRAITORS NEVER YIELD!"

The rebels are so panicked that they do not start firing at us until we are within stabbing range. In in melee we are able to stab and butcher the rebels to a man. Roast were cut, lungs impaled, hearts torn to a bloody ribbon in the literal sense.

Now that the skirmish is over, helpers bring in the few surviving war dogs or separate the bodies of loyalists from the those of rebels. As for the soldiers, we do not have a terribly long time to rest.

"Loyal soldiers, those rebels we just killed were an advance company; the main force will be arriving in thirty minutes. Set up defenses and take up positions; we're gonna give these sons of bitches a welcome they'll never forget."

We take this time to make the hamlet a temporary castle. Barb wire winds in rolls across the streets to prevent the rebels from reaching the sandbag barriers being set up to provide some form of cover. Behind these sandbags we set up mounted machine guns, mounted flamethrowers, poison gas nozzles, and mortars. Upon the roofs of the houses and cabins sit snipers patiently awaiting their prey like fishermen on a lazy lake, sitting next to them are rocket launcher peacekeepers ready to blast any armored vehicles. The peacekeepers and loyalist militiamen use this time to reload our guns and take up position in the houses or the sandbags. As a final touch, the Panem national flag is hung from the flag pole and files majestically in the breeze. Now we lie in wait for the enemy.

First, two district 13 motorized bikes drive up the road with machine gunners riding in ... buckets on wheels that appear to be attached to the left sides. We are able to completely mow down both the drivers and the gunners of these vehicles before either of them can focus on us. Immediately behind them are the rebel machine gun infantry mixed in with continental rebels who were obviously handed machine guns just before deployment. Both types of rebel dies instantly and piles up onto the road in heaps.

This is not to say that it is easy for us either; I see quite a few brave peacekeepers or loyalist militiamen fall never to rise again.

I felt my heart stop with cold fear as a grenade flew into not only my position, but also my lap! I did not know what to do, but I was lucky; the grenade was a dud. Just to be on the safe side, I throw it back towards e enemy where it still does not explode.

Though the rebels attack in a constant stream, this fighting is comparatively light to a District 4 or District 8. An armored car bearing the District 13 seal drives up, but the machine gunner on top is felled by our sniper. A rocket launcher hits the windshield and explodes on impact, throwing the car back and crushing the rebels who were unlucky enough to be directly behind it.

Once the rebels are close, we release what remains of the german shepherd unit. Being trained not to attack someone dressed in white, they rush past us and jump over the sandbag wall. The rebels are distracted by the dogs, so all the rocket launcher peacekeepers concentrate their fire on them.

Within half an hour, all the rebels are killed so efficiently that their bits can not be told apart. While I feel sorry for the dogs, I can comfort myself with the knowledge that they would have died sooner or later and that this way they at least went painlessly.

When I look around, all I can see is rubble and ruin: what had once been a peaceful hamlet was utterly decimated. The few houses that remain standing are charred walls and a skeletal frame. Mangled corpses lie in bloodied and mud-soaked piles, some still clutching weapons while others are limp. Dead peacekeepers and loyalist militiamen lie in various postmortem positions on and around the sandbag wall. A grim vapor rises from ground in some places, and the hollow breeze is unable to shake the hamlet of the death and despair that shakes it. The national standard still flies from the crossroads flagpole.

A whole rebel company of soldiers tried to break us, and our flag is still there. The banner of the Peacekeepers, of the Capitol, of the three loyal districts, of Panem; the flag is still there.


	3. Chapter 3:A special mission

The leaves crunch underneath the heel and toe of my boots as I walk with my unit through the forest. We need to remain hidden for now because that's what our orders were.

We are no longer at the hamlet; an even bigger rebel army was on its way there and the damage to the hamlet destroyed most of the strategic value. We blew up the rest of the buildings and left some land mines and antipersonnel mines to slow the rebels before falling back.

Now my unit, along with another unit, are marching in the woods on the fringe of a battle. It is not a skirmish like the one in the hamlet; there is probably a whole peacekeeper legion battling with twice as many rebels. The peacekeepers are dug in, better armed, and in closed formation, making this battle is pretty even as it is. However, the rebels do not know that two peacekeeper units are laying in wait.

We reach the clearing where the battle is raging, and we can see that we are behind enemy line. The commander leading the assault, who is not commander Barca (Commander Barca is in the battle with the main army), tells me to take my quarter of the unit and find the rebel camp at can not be far away. He then leads the rest on a charge at the enemy rear.

I lead my unit away from the battle a bit, until we find what we are looking for. Before us is enough tents to house over half the pre-uprising population of District 12. There are only about forty camp assistants present, so there is not much resistance. Of the forty rebel camp assistants, only sixteen have the brains to surrender peacefully and not try to fight off machine gun armed Peacekeepers with pots and pans. I have four peacekeepers immobilize them; two to focus their guns on them and two to tie them to trees and tie their jaws shut to prevent them from screaming for help without suffocating them. Then the fun begins.

Since the battle is far enough from the road that driving is out of the question, and since the trees prevent hovercraft landing, it is necessary for the rebels to set up camp in the woods. Destroying the rebel camp will cripple this particular rebel force no matter how the battle goes; if they loose then reinforcing rebels can not use the camp, if they win they will loose all their supplies and be forced to make the ling trek back to the road without food or raincoats. The fact that there were already cooking fires set is extremely helpful.

We pile the tent canvases onto the campfires in such a way that the fires are not smothered before they can ignite the canvases. Next we pile the rebels beds, personal belongings chests, and clothes (as well as the corpses of the twenty four camp assistants) onto the now enormous bonfires. Finally, we pile the munitions crates near the fires and lay a trail of lighter fluid to the crates that cause the gas soaked munitions to turn info firework shows. The sixteen prisoners tied to the trees are helpless as they are forced to bare witness to the logistic destruction of their force. All in all, the whole thing took all of two hours.

The only thing we do not burn are the strategic papers in the commanding officers tent: we can use that information. We are about to leave to join the battle when I hear something coming.

"Take cover!"

We all run to a hiding place and watch as several rebel soldiers, about ten seven percent of the rebels I saw on the battlefield sprint with terror to what used to be the camp. The ensuing conversation makes it clear that I have no envy not pity for the rebel soldiers.

"Lieutenant, I ... think we ... lost them. How man- AAAHHHH!" The reaction of the District 13 private can only be described as horror."

"What the blazes is the matt-" The rebel lieutenant is speechless for a moment, before exploding into a blinding rage. During this, he faLos to his knees, starts screaming, and even flings off his helmet and begins to tare out his hair out.

When he is done, he decides to execute ten of the surviving sixteen camp assistants with his combat knife. To say it is gruesome would be an understatement, almost as much an understatement as saying that his decision to mutilate the last six by removing their tongues, ears, noses, or eyes is cruel. We do not stay to watch, but head back to join the rest of the peacekeeper legion.

When we get back, we find the field scattered with dead bodies. The dead loyalist soldiers and peacekeepers are loaded up in trucks to be returned to grieving families, the bodies of dead rebels are stripped of all valuables before being piled onto a smoldering pyre. The smoke of burning corpses is just as bitter as it is sour. When mixed with the metallic sourness of spilt blood, the smell is enough to make a less experienced person vomit. My stomach does not even begin to stir.

Commander Barca walks up to and greets me, his torn uniform and bloody bayonet hint to a hard battle.

"Ah, Major Hardley. It is good to see you are still among the living. I presume your raiding mission was successful?"

"Yes it was sir, the rebels don't even have a single tent left after we got done with them."

"While there are some men hunting down the cowards, but for the most part we killed them. But that's not to say this was easy; a lot of good men lost their lives in the battle."

It is good to know the last rebels are being rounded up; I hope the sadistic rebel lieutenant gets a bullet between the eyes. But I can see that the fight was indeed a vicious one.

"But not in vain."

"Yes, not in vain."


	4. Chapter 4:A bad nights sleep

The day is finally over, and now we have some time to rest. I do not have my personal belongings chest; as they were all sent to the Acropolis for safekeeping. All I kept was my sword and scabbard, the sword cleaners, a spare pare of boots, and my toiletries. All the metals and awards I won, all my reading books, and all the whale bone carvings, pearls, dried coral, and other souvenirs I got from District 4 are with my mother and Annona in the Acropolis.

I am am sitting around a campfire with the others, trying to ignore the peaceful quiet of the night and the chirping crickets; both things that I once enjoyed the sound of but now cause anxiety. I talk with my friends to so that we can all distract ourselves from what our bodies have been trained to believe is calm before the storm.

Harod, who is seemingly perpetually cheerful, speaks first. "Anna said she might volunteer as an army nurse, they could give her basic training. I hope I get to see her if she passes."

Hearing him talk about his fiancée brought out the grandfatherly side of Crispin, "I take it you like her?"

"Well, she is my fiancée."

"Whats she like?"

"Well, she's compassionate, nurturing, smart, thoughtful; I can list off her good qualities for years."

"Well, that's enough for now. What does she do?"

"Anna is a preschool teacher in our town, she loves children."

"An honest profession. How long have you known eachother?"

"We were friends since childhood. I first began to have romantic feelings for her just before the teen years."

"I'd say you found yourself a good one."

I am beginning to become tired, so I retire to the tent. I read a few pages from a book Montgomery loaned me, normally I am not particularly interested in science but there is nothing else to read. I put the book away once it becomes apparent my eyes are insistent on drooping. I fall asleep before I realize it.

* * *

I am standing atop the cornucopia of the 74the hunger games, clad in my uniform and holding in my hand the cavalry saber of my grandfather before me. I am standing next to Cato, who is dressed in his tribute clothes and gripping the gladius he used to slay Thresh. Standing at the other side of the cornucopia is Katniss Everdeen, nervously holding a bow with only one arrow left in it.

I can hear Cato reassure me, "We can still do this. We can still do this: one more kill. Bring pride to our district."

However, before I can advance alongside my cousin and finish her off, a malicious smile spreads across her face. "You won't be bring any pride home, District 2 is dead."

Cato and I turn around and look out. The cornucopia transforms into the the top of the mountain beneath which the acropolis was built. All the clouds clear away and Cato and I are able to see the whole District. We grasp with complete and utter horror.

The central city of the district is aflame shouldering ruins from which black smoke billows up. Statues of heroes and victors from a glorious past are reduced to melted chunks of blackened crude. Despite the smoke, I can still see with clarity the grotesque trauma on the ground. Corpses of men, women, children, pregnant women, peacekeepers, elderlies, babies, and many others blanket the streets and ground and fields; so many rotting and decaying corruptions of what were once human beings who lived and laughed and loved, so many that there is no part of the streets showing.

Even from this height I can hear the echoing of screams that were silenced possibly hours ago; while most screams are primal sounds of someone in pain about to meet their mortality, others are clear and crisp and I have no trouble hearing the sounds of the various lamentations of murdered loved ones.

Beyond the central city, I can see all the burning and smoldering villages and towns surrounded by blazing forests and blackened rivers and decomposing deers. Some villages have ceased to exist all together and are nothing more than piles of ash and charred bones.

Beyond the smoldering woods of District 2, I can see that District 4 died in a similar way. The ocean is black and the bloated cadavers float and bob alongside the skeletons of once mighty steamships and the broken splinters of wooden sailboats. They are feasted upon not by pleasant pelicans or seagulls, but by ravenous flocks of Mockingjays. Gnawing on the rendered flesh and pulling on the blackened limbs are doglike monstrosities; the more I look at them I get the sense they were once human.

It seems that geography is irrelevant, as I need not turn to see the identical death of District 1. Melted statues lie in molten puddles on the ground, buildings that have not outright collapsed into piles of ashen debris are but charred frames. From the frames hang innocents from nooses, women pregnant or otherwise, children, babies, old men, husbands, peacekeepers, careers, too many to count. Once again, dogs that might have once been human gorge themselves on the suffering of others and even pull fallen victors out of the crypt to add to their disturbing feast.

Katniss must have seen these too, based on what she says. "Did you really think I'd stop with my own district?"

I do not know how, but when she says this my vision extends to and fixes upon District 12. It is not even ruins now, it is just a lake of ash and soot. Any bodies or buildings have been thoroughly cremated until there is nothing to distinguish the ashes of human with those of buildings or trees or animal. Even the wind is silenced here, and the lake of ash sits undisturbed. It is clear that nothing will ever live here again, no insect or cell or person; nothing.

Katniss says something tauntingly now, and my blood goes cold. "Saved the best for last."

I can now see mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud plum up and swell with glowing fusion in a place where the Capitol should be; buildings getting vaporized in the flashes of light. There have to be at least a thousand nuclear detonations wiping away the lives of millions. I can hear the agonized wails and screams as countless humans face their last moment in that quick instant. This is to horrifying to watch, I turn back towards Katniss. By the way Cato holds his gladius, and by the scowl of blinding rage that fills his face, it is clear he is also upset. However, I am also upset, so I speak first.

"You monster, why must you do this to innocent people?"

"I'm sending a message: you'll all burn with us."

"I won't let you ever get away with this, you'll answer for your evil!"

"No, I think I'd rather add two more careers to the pile."

With that, Katniss lets her arrow fly, it hits Cato through the heart and he collapses onto his knees. Forgetting the foe behind me, I kneel down next to my cousin whom I grew up with and who I loved as dearly as a sibling.

"Please, stay with me. You're gonna make it. You're gonna make it! Please?!"

By this point I am sobbing to the point where I have to take off my helmet for fear of drowning in my tears. As I hold Cato's hand and we stare deeply into each other's eyes, I can see his bright blue eyes grow cold and lifeless as I feel his muscular hand doing the same. His short and shallow breaths become softer until his chest no longer rises. Soon his skin develops a pallor of death and his arm grows limp and his hand falls from my hand.

"No, no, no no no no no ..."

I repeat this over and over as I sob bitterly beside him. Then Katniss speaks.

"He's dead, I killed him. Hearing his screams of agony while the mutts ate him alive, it was like music to my ears. I liked it so much that I didn't stop there; your mother, his parents, any your girlfriend are also dead."

"no."

" I even gave your girlfriend a special send off; I had the two District 13 soldiers finish what they started when you met her."

"NO!"

"She screamed and cried after the first hour like the whore she is."

"Ill kill you!"

I then reached for Cato's gladius. Once it was in hand, I charged at her with screams of hatred erupting from me. She pulled back her next arrow and was about to fire it at me. This is it, one of us is going to die in a few seconds.

* * *

I am shaken awake from my torment by a friend. I am awake but this was a reminder that no matter how safe or calm I may think I am, the real nightmare is far from over.


	5. Chapter 5:A time to cry, a time to laugh

I am absolutely drenched in sweat and gasping for air, exhausted from the nocturnal torture. But it left me a parting gift in the form of real fear.

"Ahh"

"Its okey, its okey, its okey. That's good, just breathe in."

"WhereamIandwhatisgoingonIsDistrict2stillstandingwhereismymotherwhereisAnnonaiseverybody"

Montgomery cuts off my stream of questions before I feint, and he answers exact question as best he can.

"You're in a military camp at the outskirts District 2, which is still under loyal control and not at all destroyed. Annona was evacuated to the central city with the rest of your family; they are all safe and healthy. Whats wrong?"

"Nothing. Just a bad dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

I remember my cousin dying before my eyes, I remember Katniss bragging about killing my family and about how rebel soldiers raped my love. I remember my home District getting exterminated as well as Districts 1,4, and 12. I clearly remember the nuclear destruction of the Capitol, and am well aware that the radioactivity released from that could in real life kill every living thing on the planet and end life forever.

"No. Its the last thing in the world I want to talk about."

"That's okey, you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to."

"Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway."

"Was anyone else disturbed by me?"

"No."

I am sitting upright on top of the bed, Montgomery is sitting next to me. At first I do not speak, but then I build up the ability to ask a question.

"Montgomery?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever get nightmares?"

"Yes. I have the same one every night."

"About what?"

I was expecting Montgomery to not want to talk about it, but to my surprise he showed no sign of being closed off. His voice was distressed and darkened when he speaks of his fear.

"My parents dying."

I do not know what to say to that. I went through something similar with Cato, but I still have not the slightest idea as to how I cope with the sorrow of losing someone you love dearly. I personally do not enjoy talking about it, and I can only say one thing honestly.

"I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me, that's what friends are for."

* * *

The morning could not come sooner, and we before I knew it I was sitting outside in the temporary mess hall of the woods and filling my empty stomach with corn flavored porridge. I can see that Jacobine was at the table, as was Harod and Crispin. Aric and Helena on the other hand were nowhere to be seen.

I decided to make conversation with my friends, "So, how did you sleep last night?"

Jacobine answered first, "There was a damn owl outside my tent that wouldn't shut up."

This is strange, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but arn't owl hoots supposed to be soothing?"

"Normally! This one must have been hatched upside down because it only made weird shrieking noises."

Montgomery suddenly took interest, "You don't say. It probably has some form of genetic defect or possibly an injury early in development. If I can get a look at it, I can surly take a look at it and find out whats wrong with it."

"Please, be my guest. Just promise me you'll taxidermy the pest once your done with it."

Harod taunted, "I take it someone doesn't like owls."

"I have nothing against owls, just so long as they don't practice their howler monkey impersonations during my sleeping time."

We are interrupted when Aric and Helena join us at the table. They both had messy hair and smelled sweaty.

"Good morning, sorry we're late. We ... slept in a bit."

Little details tell me that those two did more than sleep. We all feel uncomfortable with the Too-Much-Information moment, except for Crispin. The old sea captain tells Jacobine a joke that pokes fun harmlessly.

"Hahahaha. Did Aric ask you for advice beforehand, or did you just give him the talk?"

Jacobine's ... um experiment with the three District 4 women is still talked about around camp. That's more experance than most get at his age, but then again the average person his age is not a battle hardened warrior.

Aric simply says in a faux complaint, "O come on, I'm two years older than him."

"And I'm sixty years older than you, so I'm sure I have the most experience out of anyone here."

Helena chooses the perfect moment to make a joke, "Or you could have none."

This makes us all laugh so hard that I temporarily forget my midnight haunting.

Friends are what get us through it all.


	6. Chapter 6:Partisan

We are marching down a pathway in the woods to rescue twelve loyal soldiers pinned down in a road side tavern. Our strength is about three units, so we should be able to defeat the rebels who are pinning down our brothers in arms.

As we march down the road, we see four hundred or so rebels in a standoff with the loyalists inside the tavern. The tavern looks as thought during more peaceful times it was as warm and inviting place where weary travelers would rest for the evening and have dinner. This is what I imagine, as now it is dilapidated and dusty and I assume has been since the evacuation into the heart of the District.

Neither one is willing to make the first shot to break the standoff, at least not until we arrive. The moment we notice the rebels those in front fire at them while those of us behind the first row of peacekeepers rush to get cover. The loyalists in the tavern take this as the cue to fire at the rebels as well, and those rebels are sufficiently surprised. While most of those not immediately gunned down in the crossfire return bullets, only six or so rebels have the sense to take cover behind rocks or fallen logs. The rest die right there in the street.

Once we surround the six surviving rebels who have all hidden behind a rock, they knew they could either fight and die or surrender and live. Despite this, they still were hesitant out of fear that surrendering would also mean death.

As peacekeeper Major, I did the negotiating. "Come out and lay down your arms, can't you see you can't hope to win this fight?"

"How do we know you won't just off us once we do?"

"Because we're Peacekeepers, the civilized side, the good guys; just because rebels stoop to barbarism does not mean we do."

The leader of the surviving six, a man who judging from skin pigmentation is from District 11, speaks for them. "You, civilized? Bombing a whole District into oblivion is not civilized."

"Do you expect me to believe your Capitol propaganda?"

"No, but you can expect peacekeepers not to be fooled by traitor lies. Look around, if you don't surrender you'll die."

One of the rebels says, "Don't do it, we fight to the bitter end!"

Another rebel, one who can't be older than fourteen, expressed different sentiment, "I think we should do what he says. I don't want to die, I just want to go home."

A third rebel agrees with the second, "I only joined because a press gang made me, I miss my family."

Only one rebel is against surrendering, the rest are done fighting. The rebel leader looks like is is about to give in, but something disrupts the talking down. A grenade explosion erupts from the hands of the rebel who did not want to surrender, killing all six of them and pushing back the three peacekeepers who were standing too close.

Those who were close enough to feel the wind of the blast were shaken, but this no longer surprises me: rebel aggression is just a fact of life now. We take our attention away from the splattering of blood and splinters and limbs that has taken the place of the six rebels- no, five people and a monster. While I do not feel anything now, I know this will disturb me upon later reflection; in some ways that is worse.

We approach the tavern and see fourteen loyal soldiers first look out the window, then leave the tavern. They are dressed in civilian clothes and identifiable only by the white armband they wear. They hold weapons that are ... makeshift, so it is understandable that they scour and confiscate any weapons or ammunition the rebel corpses may posses. Once they are finished and armed with District 13 machine guns, as well as more than enough corresponding ammunition, I talk with their leader for a bit.

Their leader is a nineteen year old man with curly red hair, who's first physical impression gives off a look of boyish youth. Only when he speaks and I hear his bitter voice do I find that the first appearance is misleading. "You, your the leader aren't you?"

"I'm the senior-most officer, yes. Is there something you need to tell me?"

The leader of the fourteen loyalists then pulled out something bundled and tied in untanned deerskin. He handed it to me.

"Give this to the commander and don't open it until your back at camp. Don't give it to a peacekeeper with the order to carry it to commender: give it to him personally. Its for his eyes only.

"Thanks. Whatever it is, I am sure it is important."

"When you get to the crossroads, you'll see the sign removed. Taking the left path will lead you to Solitary Rock, taking the right will take you to Drowning Trout."

"Aren't you coming?"

"We need to clean up the mess, or else some rebel asshole will take a picture of the blood pool and say we fragged them." I can easily imagine rebel propagandists doing this, or rearranging the rebel bodies to say a firing squad killed them.

"Are you sure you'll be okey staying behind?"

"We arn't afraid; we're loyal partisans. Our front is the Mockingjay's rear, and our home is the District 2 forest."

"Well, good luck."

"You too. You keep killing rebel bastards and we'll disrupt their supply lines and pick them off one by one."

So we marched back to camp, and the partisans went to work cleaning the road. We are both fighting the same battle.


	7. Chapter 7:Delivery

We could not reach the encampment sooner, it was already midday. We marched at double speed because if there is one thing we do not want, it is to be caught or ambushed outside the encampment at nighttime. We march on, ignoring the fact that we just saw a rebel suicide bomb his own comrades out of little more than spite.

After marching down a small road through the woods, we finally reach the encampment. We are all exhausted, but I do not allow myself to rest like the others. I head strait for Commander Barca, because I have a feeling in the seed of my gut that this bundle has something vital in it.

After I find him, I explain how a loyalist partisan gave this to me with explicit instructions to personally deliver it to him. He suggests we talk about this in a more private setting. Once we are inside one of the houses of the village that the encampment is build around, we can talk freely.

* * *

"So your sure he told you this was important?"

"Yes."

"Well, let's open it up."

Commander Barca walked over to a wooden desk and laid the deerskin bundle on it. He unrolled the untanned deerskin, and I could see that inside was a stack of papers completely covered with writing. After looking at the papers for a few seconds, Commander Barca wrapped the stack of papers up in the deerskin and got up while handing it back to me.

"Come on, we need to get this to the nearest Headpeacekeeper immediately."

"Where is he?"

"At the Solitary Rock encampment, about three hours down the road from here. We'll need to go fast if we are to get this to the nearest Headpeacekeeper in time."

We went off to the armored cars, and we left in one while three other armored cars followed close behind us to provide security. It turns out we need security.

The cars stop when rebels fire at us with machine guns, but are not piercing the bulletproof shells. We do not wait for their rocketlauncher to get into position, but instead fire back. Commander Barca and I fired out of the slits that served as windows in the car, while the drivers resumed driving while rebels with machine guns shot at us from behind and were gunned down by the gunner who had a seat on top of the armored car and fired from a machine gun that was mounted on the car.

Fortunately, these attackers must have just been highwaymen taking advantage of the chaos to rob travelers while peacekeepers are busy preventing the end of civilization. Most of them are dead now, so I think we sent a clear message to the survivors as to whether or not crime pays.

Our armored car trip goes well enough until we are just forty minutes away from our destination. Then we find a surprise; the bridge leading across a stream has fallen it. The stream is small enough that we can jump over it, but there is no way to get the cars across. This means only one thing; we have to continue on foot.

Commander Barca leads me and half of the Peacekeepers in the armored cars as we get out to continue on foot. The rest drive the armored cars back, and will most likely have to mop up the remaining highwaymen. It is already dark, and and cold, and quiet. The worst part was the quiet, as it felt like the whole of existence was holding its breathe. We walked quietly to avoid attracting attention, but also with haste to avoid being late. Each each minute felt like eternity, each second feels like a lifetime.

I hold the deerskin bundle, inside of which are important papers. We march tirelessly, never stopping. After an hour on foot, we hear growling in the woods. They are most likely wolves, come to dine on our flesh. Commander Barca is still unfazed, but he gives his orders wide and clear.

"Peacekeepers, when I say go, we all fire. ... NOW!"

The wolves jump out from all directions and bound towards us. Without hesitation we open fire in the pack. We fire low, and the bullets hit the wolves and they die without fight. Some whimper and stand on their hind legs before collapsing backwards, others simply let their front legs collapse and pull them forward to the ground the moment the bullet pierces through their skin and embed in the wolves flesh. Once all the wolves are dead, Commander Barca gives the next order with the steadiness all come to associate him with.

"Run."

We all sprint down the road without rest, adrenaline pumping through our veins. My heart beat rapidly with every footstep, and yet I found I did not even slow in the slightest. Eventually we saw the light at the end of the road and knew we found the destination. Once we reach camp, I waste no time.

"Somebody take us to the Headpeacekeeper of this legion! We have inportant information that can not wait."

All the people milling around the camp turn to look at us, and I can bet we must be a sight. Panting, gasping for breath, covered in twigs and branches, and having arrived in the middle of the night. Fortunately, they saw our peacekeeper uniforms and knew we were serious.

One loyalist militiaman, someone who's accent carries a hint of District 1, leads us to a tent completely indistinguishable from the other bunk tents. Across from it is a tent more fitting for a Headpeacekeeper.

"Wait one minute, I'll get him."

The loyalist disappears into the bunk tent for a few moments, then out comes the Headpeacekeeper. He is dressed in a sleeping uniform, but still wears a belt upon which are two handguns and a combat knife. His black hair, which is starting to silver around the edges, is shaven to military regulation and as such not disturbed by sleep.

We introduced ourselves.

"Peacekeeper Commander Larsen Barca."

"Peacekeeper Major Lysander Hardley."

The Headpeacekeeper shook our hands and introduced himself. "Legionary Headpeacekeeper Romulus Thread."

With formalities out of the way, Thread went strait to business. "I trust you came all the way here and woke me up to tell me something important."

Commander Barca, being of higher rank than me, confirms this as fact. "Yes sir, we did. I'm sorry, did we woke you?"

"Yes, but I'd rather lose sleep than soldiers. And if your wondering, I sleep in the common quarters because I am a peacekeeper like them and you. I don't need special privileges or better food."

He leads us into his headpeacekeepers tent, which I can see is basically an office. Rather than tell him, I hold out he deerskin bundle for him to take. He takes it and asks, "What is it?"

Commander Barca answered the question, "It is vital information handed to us by loyal partisans with the instructions that it be handed to you."

Romulus Thread placed the deerskin bundle on his desk and unwrapped it. He sat down, bade us to do the same, and looked through the papers for forty. The placed the papers in a flashing machine one by one and took them our unharmed.

"You were right, it was very inportant information. Its a good thing you brought it, the traitors don't want us to find out the information in the paper and would likely have sent assassins after whoever tried to deliver it if you waited. I just sent a digital copy both sides of every sheet, so now the Acropolis and the Capitol have the vital information and there is nothing the traitors can do about it."

Then he addressed me specifically. "I'm sure you want to know what it said, right?"

"yes sir."

"Well, it's only fair considering how you walked through the woods at night. In those papers were logistic information on the rebels; weapon depots, enemy encampments, supply lines, battle strategy, the locations of POW camps, a list of collaborators, a list of rebel officers, and governing officials in rebel held districts. It also includes a list of rebel atrocities being commit in rebel held districts, as well as war crimes commit by the rebellion and rough estimate as to the number of those killed. You can look at the papers if you want."

"I'm glad we can help bring the peacekeepers one more step closer to defeating the rebellion."

Romulus Thread looked at a framed picture on his desk and whispered, "The damend Mockingjay has taken something from all of us."

I recognize something in his voice, something I feel myself. It is personal for him. Another person who suffers because of the war.


	8. Chapter 8:Early morning

We are allowed to sleep in this encampment for tonight, because tomorrow both encampments are to relocate further into the interior of the district and merge into one large encampment.

Headpeacekeeper Romulus Thread lead us to the sleeping tents, past the sleeping peacekeepers until we got to the empty bunks. Commander Barca and I found bunks and went strait to sleep, Romulus Thread and went to sleep in an empty bunk not too far away; like a true Headpeacekeeper he lives in the same conditions as the men under his command.

I am able to go into a sort of half sleep in which I am still faintly aware of my surroundings, I force myself to stay partially alert not out of any paranoia but rather to prevent my subconscious from locking me in a personally tailored dungeon of my own terror.

I just listen to the muffled sobs of one peacekeeper at the far end of the barracks tent, or to Romulus Thread's shifting his position in his sleep, or to Larsen Barca's content snoring.

Pat one point, I can hear someone walking stealthily. Whoever this is, he or she is clearly attempting to avoid detection so as to carry out some act which has a nefarious purpose. I squint to see who it is, and I hear a crashing sound.

I can hear the click of a pistols safety being turned off, and Romulus Thread saying this. "Hands to your head, one move and I'll blow your brains out."

Me and Commander Barca, as well as all the peacekeepers in the tent, jump out of our beds. Someone turns the lights on. We can all see Romulus Thread sitting up in his bed and holding his pistol aimed at the women who stands in the isle. We all take a moment for our eyes to adjust and for our brains to register what we see. Once we do, we all notice that the women is a peacekeeper.

Romulus Thread asks the peacekeeper in a voice similar to that of a teacher lecturing a truant. "Soldier, what is your name?"

"Peacekeeper Cassidy Smith."

"Why are you in the men's barrack at midnight?"

When she did not say anything, Thread added, "Come on, out with it."

She finally said with carefully chosen words, "I was ... visiting one of the peacekeepers here."

"Sure, visiting. Who were you ... visiting?"

"Peacekeepers Jason Mercury."

Giggling and laughing erupted from the peacekeepers who were awake and listening in.

"Soldiers, this is why the barracks is not coed. Smith, as punishment for breaking curfew and leaving your post without permission, you are to report to the camp center in the morning for eight lashings. We need all our soldiers to stay where they are ordered to. Just be glad I didn't think you were an assassin."

As a peacekeeper walked her off to the brig, the peacekeepers were reacting with amusement. I have to admit, I am able to laugh out of relief that she was not an assassin.

* * *

After a quick meal, we disassembled the encampment and in less than an hour we were back on the road. The peacekeepers are are trained from the start to be the most disciplined and regimented fighting force the world has ever seen. We are able to march to our destination by dinner time.

We have to march through freezing drizzle, but I do not mind the rain. The rain reminds me of my childhood, of growing up in the mountains, of a happiness that comes with nor knowing what it is to fight and to kill and to be the person others will try to kill. I wonder if my grandfather felt this way about district 2, or if it also reminded him of wartime endurance.

I wonder how felt right before a cavalry charge, did he feel afraid that this would be his last battle, or was he exhilarated with the knowledge that he was more alive, or did he treat if as another fact of life and become immune to the horrors of war. I also wonder how Cato felt when he went to hunt down Thresh to avenge his fallen district partner, or when he was climbing up the Nut and knew he still had a chance of winning the battle. I know that before the games began he probably felt something along the lines of confidence, because he had been training his whole life and victory would ,ean being remembered forever.

I know I will never forget Cato, and I will never forgive the people who tortured him to death.


	9. Chapter 9:Setting up camp

We finally reach the inn at a fork in the road where we are to set up encampment, and not a moment too soon. Now comes the hard work.

The Peacekeeper Legions are trained to set up camp in only one hour, and we are able to do it in an hour and twenty minutes with the Loyalist Militiamen slowing our camp building. Trees are then felled and pushed aside to both clear space and establish a perimeter, the wood is used as stakes for the surrounding camp boundaries of for firewood. We are able to clear out the needed space so quickly in part because of modern wood cutting technology. Finally, we set up antipersonnel mines in the woods beyond the freshly cut perimeter; this should give rebels second thoughts about probing the legion encampment.

Once everything is set up, every coil of barbed wire laid out, and every mine activated, we can now rest. Those soldiers of the loyal army who are not on guard shift go to the outside lunch tables to eat now that the rain stopped. There I am able to meet up with the rest of my friends and we can talk about what happened while I was busy delivering information to Headpeacekeeper Thread.

Harod, always thoughtful, asks first, "Lyes, its good to see you still in one piece. Where were you?"

"I got a gift from a partisan while leading soldiers in the woods. I thought I'd share it with Barca, and he decided to share it with Headpeacekeeper Thread."

This seemed to interest Aric, "What was so important about it that it couldn't wait until morning?"

"It was a rebel to-do list. I don't think Johnny Reb would not want the Capitol to see all the horrific things they were doing with Panem."

We talked a bit more, and Harod had to get up and go off on some business, but when I described how explosively one rebel reacted to his comrades wanting to surrender, the table became silent. In an attempt to change the conversation, I asked about some old business.

"Hey Montgomery, did you ever find out what was wrong with the owl?"

Montgomery chuckled,"O yes, yes. I caught the bird and couldn't find a thing wrong with it. Just a regular screech owl."

"Jacobine, didn't you ever hear screech owls before?"

"No, I lived in the district's central city; not many owls there."

There are not any poor people in District 2 who would not be considered part of the upper merchant class of Districts 11 and 12. While life in the city is less physical work, life in the villages is more pristine and idyllic. Of corse, the district is so connected that even those in the farthest most villages can take the public transportation system time city for a day trip, and most living in the homesteads can also afford to do this; though many simply do not bother to.

When Harod gets back, he brings along with him an army nurse who is not short, but appears that way when standing next to someone as tall as Harod.

Harod is practically beaming when he is next to her."Everyone, I'd love you to meet my fiancée. Anna, these are my comrades."

"Hello"

"Hello"

Aric says this, "We already met, remember?"

"Good to see you again Aric, and it's nice to meet you all."

Crispin then holds his hand out; shaking the hand of someone you are introducing yourself to is a common form of greeting. "Crispin Armitage, Militiaman of the District 4 Loyalist Volunteers. It is nice to finally meet you, your fiancé has spoken quite a bit about you."

Anna shakes his hand and says, "Nice to meet you."

One by one, we all introduce ourselves to our friend's wife to be. Once formalities are out of the way, we talk about how we have been holding up. I learn that Anna adapted well to being a nurse for peacekeepers, and that she even saved someone's life.

We do not talk about fighting long, in actual fact we try to talk about literally anything else. If it will distract us from the fact that the civilized world is threatened by a murderous extremist from District 12, we will talk about it. I can almost forget for a moment that there even is a war to begin with, or that my cousin was tortured to death by the two sadists who started the war.

If only for a moment.

In just a few hours I have to head out again to protect the encampment. It is dark outside, and it is cold.

My unit is one of those on the night shift; we need to keep watch over the camp to be sure no rebels try anything sinister. Right now I am at the outside of the encampment, patrolling into the night. With me are some of the other patrolling peacekeepers, while other peacekeepers in my unit are asleep. It is a dark and dreary night, a night when I shiver through to my center. It has a nervous silence.

This silence is interrupted by the sound of gunfire coming from the encampment, and I can see shadows leaving the encampment and running across the clearing. I do not need to be a genius to know what is happening.

"Spies!"

I run after and fire at the rebel spies, with Helena and another peacekeeper who I do not know following.

They fall to the ground, but that is no guarantee that I hit them. For all I know, they fell to play dead and surprise us when we least expect it.

Then I see the blood.

It covers the snow, painting it a color than in this darkness can only be described as deathly black. I can see only two of the four rebels moving; I guess I know how many of them were fatally hit.

"One wrong move and your dead."

The two surviving rebels turn themselves off their stomachs and on their backs, and I can see that they were shot thought the stomach. One of them is only twelve years old, and yet he was still holding a gun.

The older one decides to disregard the warning, "Now!"

Out of the shadows stand rebel soldiers wielding machine guns. A hale of bullets kill some on both sides.

We all get down to kneeling position and fire back at the rebels. More rebels are coming, so we need to get back the encampment.

I shout over the fray, "Fall back to the encampment."

Helena's response: "I'll guard the rear."

As we jog back to the encampment, Helena is constantly turning around and gunning down the multitude of rebels who emerge from the shadows. Once we are enough distance away, she pulls three grenades from her belt and throw them all at the two surviving spies and the rebs who are trying to rescue them.

The explosion knocks us off our feet, but we are able to get back on them and keep moving.

I see the glint of a glass circle in the bushes, and fire at what i am correct in assuming to be a sniper. A bullet flies harmlessly past Helena's shoulder.

The explosion killed most of the rebel guerrillas, and it is safe to say the rest have slithered away like the cowards they are.

When we reach the encampment, there is still work to be done. Some other rebels have barricaded themselves in one of the houses. Many peacekeepers and camp aids are gathered around watching, unsure what to do next.

Commander Barca approaches us with instructions. "Our snipers probably cleared out all the rebels, but we should still send someone to look for booby traps. I can see one peacekeeper walk into the house, searching around for rebel ambushers.

I can hear Harod and Anna talking, the latter reassuring the former. Her voice is so uneasy that it is clear she is also trying to convince herself. "I am sure there is nothing, those rebels are not thorough."

"Are you sure? They can be dangerous."

"True, but I saved enough injured soldiers to be sure that the rebels are too cocky to aim steady."

A small explosion tears through the air, and the next thing we hear is the sound of a District 2 voice calling out for help.

As some try to move out, Headpeacekeeper Thread stops them. "Wait! It could be a trap. I don't want to force anyone to take that risk. At least not without being sure."

What Anan says next confirms all the good things I heard about her. "Sir, if I may; I am willing to be the one to get him out of there."

Romulus Thread looks dumbfounded, Harod is speechless with shock. The Headpeacekeeper asks, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright, but be carful."

Before she can head out, Harod grabs her arm. "Please don't, I can't lose you."

"I need to. I know it is risky, but I can't run away. I need to do this for the same reason you march into battle each morning. "

"I love you."

Anna takes off Harod's helmet and kisses him in the mouth. It is a long and romantic kiss, I can tell just by looking.

After this, Anna whispers, "I will always love you."

The combat nurse enters the house, and all is quiet.

Not a cricket chirps, not an owl hoots, not a sound interrupts the still quiet of the night.

Then a large ball of fire erupts from the building, no doubt killing all inside.

Anna is dead.

Anna is dead, and I am sure part of Harod has also died.


	10. Chapter 10:Context

It has been about ten days since Harod lost his fiancée, and he has not even begun to stop crying. We all tried to comfort him, but it was of almost no avail.

Once he got the chance to, Romulus Thread himself went to talk to Harod in private. He entered the room with a solemn expression on his face.

"I came as soon as I could. I offer my sincerest condolences."

He then looked at us in a way that suggested privacy was needed. As we left, I could hear Thread comforting his peacekeeper in mourning.

"Harod, I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I know how you feel, I too lost someone ..."

This confirms what I suspected when I first met the war hero, but I do not stick around to learn more because my mother did not raise an eavesdropper.

Harod was slightly better after that, but not by much. For some reason Thread was one of the only three people Harod would even listen to, the others being Montgomery and I. Perhaps this is because only those who have lost someone themselves can understand what he is going through. I still do not know who Romulus Thread lost, but whoever it was must have been someone close.

Today, when we sat down for lunch on the fifteenth day, something unexpected happened: Harod arrived to the table and appears to have stopped crying. Granted, he still would not say a word and still he looked sad as all hellfire, but at least this was something. Even if he only stopped crying probably as a result of dehydration, this is still a step in the right direction. The rest of us walk on eggshells to avoid reminding him of his lost love. He says nothing, but eats his food quietly. While he eats, he looks like he is in pain as he swallows each bite like it is poison. The one time he looks up, I can see his waterlogged eyes have lost the sparkle and brightness they previously had.

When we get ready for battle, I see Harod loading his gun and packing ammunition into his belt. Commander Barca approaches him.

"You don't have to fight yet if you don't want to."

"Yes sir. Yes I do. I must."

"Be careful."

"Yes sir."

We pile into the transport truck and it takes us to a town that some of the rebels have occupied.

There is only a skeletal occupation force, so if we retake this town we will cut off a rebel supply line. Then we can fall back when the rebels try to retake the town; tying up rebel divisions with skirmishes is a good way to slow their progress and keep them off the field in important battles.

While we drive down the road, I see that Harod is staring into the reflection of his bayonet. I can not see Harod's eyes through the black visor, but I know his eyes are still the empty eyes of someone who lost their beloved.

We arrive at the town and take the fourteen rebels occupying the place completely by surprise. We kill the first six, but the rest go into hiding.

It looks like this will be a search and kill mission.

We have to comb through every house in order to be sure Johnny Reb does not give us the slip. In order to avoid falling prey to booby traps, bomb sniffing dogs are released to roam the village. The dogs go to any house that holds an explosive, and said house is set on fire and given a wide berth. All goes well, and the rattle of gunfire in the distance tells us when a hiding traitor was found.

I, along with Montgomery and Harod, am looking through one house when we hear something in the kitchen. We rush in just in time to see a rebel escape through the back door. There is an unfinished snare bomb on the kitchen floor. We climb over the wooden fence that the rebels escaped over, and give chase. When the rebels try running away across an open field, I fire two warning shots. When they keep running, I shoot one in the leg and they all stop.

"Stop right there! One wrong move and your dead!"

They stop, and I see they hold no weapons.

"Put your hands in the air where I can see them."

They comply, and we make the three Rebs walk over to a the backyard of a house that was already cleared. I type into my communicator for others to come here, and decide to get some questions answered.

All three of us have our guns pointed at them, and the rebels are kneeling on the ground.

"What were you doing here?"

One of the soldiers looks scared witless, but the other two are stone faced.

The apparent leader answers. "We are soldiers of the Mockingjay's Revolutionary Army."

I correct him. "You are cowardly traitors, and you deserve to hang."

This rebel spits on my visor, and that earns him a square kick between the legs. He reaches his hands to the afflicted area.

Montgomery shouts, "Have your hands where we can see them!"

The rebel instead lets out a pained scream, and the rebel to his right lets out an enraged one and looks like he is about to tackle me or do something possibly worse.

Before he can do this, Harod shoots him point blank in the head. Then, in a split second, he moves his arm to the left and shoots the head of the one in the middle.

We are able to hold his arm and pull the gun out of his hand before he shoots the third in the head.

"Harod, stop."

Harod steps back a moment, and is panting.

"Harod, what was that for? The other two weren't going to do anything."

Harod seems at a loss. "I ... I don't know what came over me. He just screamed and ... and ... I don't know what happened."

Montgomery places his hand on Harod's shoulder, "He let out a battlecry and you took appropriate precaution. How do we know he wasn't about to activate a suicide vest he's secretly wearing? We can't be careless."

We are about to wait for the others, when I feel like something is wrong. I do not know what, maybe just intuition, but I find myself walking to the nearby bushes. I reach in, grab someone, and drag him out by the shoulders.

In his hands is some type of object, which I am quick to rip away from him.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm just a noncombatant."

Montgomery points to the thing I took out of his hand "That's a video cassette camera. You're a war correspondent, aren't you?"

The man kept his mouth clamped shut.

"Don't feel like speaking. Fine, we'll take you to the commander and see if you'll speak then."

* * *

When we get back to the encampment, our little reporter has a word with Commander Barca.

"Just what do you think you're doing snooping around?"

"I'm a war correspondent, the people have a right to know-"

"The people don't need to have information taken out of context and distorted for the purpose of manipulation. Now, let's try this again; what were you doing?"

"I saw what your soldiers did; Peacekeepers are murderers and all of Panem will know."

"I don't know what you think you saw. I watched what's on your camera and all I saw was a possible suicide bomber provoking a Peacekeeper, who then took the right measure to save his comrades. Apart from that, those two dead boys were planting bombs designed to kill medical professionals and noncombatants like you."

"They were made to destroy baby killing peacekeepers-"

"The only baby killers are the rebel bastards who you try to glorify. Well, you're not distorting the truth this time. All recording or filming equipment found in the town was destroyed, and you are being sent off to the prison camp where the higher ups will decide what to do about you."

As two peacekeepers walk the coward out to some unknown fate, Commander Barca addresses the three of us.

"You made the right decision today, there is no room for hesitation. Remember, this is a war."


	11. Chapter 11:Panic off the battlefield

Harod did not stop crying all together. He would still cry himself to sleep every night. And cry in his sleep. And sometimes he would still be whimpering when he woke up. On days where he was not crying, we would all consider it a good day.

However, I noticed something different about Harod. While as he previously loathed being chosen for a firing squad or an execution, now he jumps for the opportunity. Whenever a rebel who was found to have commit a war crime (such as the murder of civilian or a rape), they often receive a trial and an execution. Harod is not just taking one for the team; he seems to enjoy executing rebels and defectors. Unlike the others who are chosen to preform executions, Harod seems to look the scumbags in the eyes as he kills them. I am not being judgmental, as I too would be more than a little pissed if my love died.

Apart from Harod's misery, there have been other events of noteworthiness. The encampment was once again moved deeper into the heart of the district, as the advancing Rebel army forces us to become more and more defensive. On the bright side, all the civilians (and the refugees from Districts 1 and 4), have been evacuated to the great emergency bunkers in the Acropolis.

I hope Annona and my mother are kept safe there. I also hope the same think for Crispin's grandchildren, Aric's nephew, Jacobine's younger brothers, and all the innocent civilians who the rebels would deny mercy.

However, I am afraid. Not afraid of for myself, mind you. I am infinatly more afraid of what will happen to my friends and family. The rebels have made it painfully clear time and time again that they have no intentions of abiding by basic standards of conduct.

Right now, I am pondering all of this while sitting around a campfire during the hour of rest we receive at the end of the day. Today was not what I would call a good day: the patrol I was part of stumbled upon the mutilated and scattered remains of a whole family. From what I heard (from loyalist militiamen who narrowly escaped a similar fate prior to enlistment), the rebels simply got bored and decided a family of refugees would provide the 'entertainment'.

There were so many bloody bits that it was impossible to identify what belonged to whom. We had to bury the mess in a single unmarked grave.

While I try to forget about it, I desperately need distraction. I guess I should be careful what I wish for.

One of the District 2 Loyalist Militiamen approaches me. "You're one of Harod's friends? Right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"If you see him, tell him he still owes me for the coil of rope I loaned him."

What?!

I look up, eyes wide with fear and a little bit of shock.

"Where is he?"

"Just outside the encampment. Why?"

I do not answer his question, but instead sprint all the way to the edge of the encampment.

When the guards stopped me for an ID, I showed it to them as well as asking if they saw a large peacekeeper named Harod. They said they did, and that he was in the courtyard.

Once again they asked why, and once again I ignored them as I ran to the courtyard. My feet hurt and my lungs burned, but I pressed on. Eventually I saw the street lamps in the courtyard, and a mass was hanging from one of them.

As I run towards the mass, I fear the worst.

Soon I see what it is.

Hanging from the rope on the street lamp, it was suspended limply.

It was just a punching bag.

The relief I feel when I see that it was just a punching bag is so much that I fall over flat on my ass.

I did not initially notice that, before he saw me, Harod was bunching the bag with fury and shouting "I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU ...".

When he saw me, he stopped punching the bag and extended an arm to help me up.

When I grip it, I can feel how bloody his hands are from repeatedly punching something.

"Hello Lyes, I didn't mean you."

"So, how are you feeling?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Did you want to see me?"

I can't tell him what I was afraid he did, because it might give him ideas.

"You'll be late for curfew if you don't get back to camp soon."

"Oh. Okey."

"Need any help with that?" I gesture to the punching bag when I say this.

"Sure, I promised someone I'd return this rope once I'm done with it."

We walk back to camp, less than two minutes to spare before curfew.


End file.
